She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience. "Your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper. “Hola, Michelle. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia. Let us be gone. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated.
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